


The Indian Devil

by ufovalet



Category: The X-Files, X Files
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufovalet/pseuds/ufovalet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully travel to a small town in Maine to investigate a string of suspicious deaths in the woods. The two agents soon discover that there's more to this town than they originally suspected. Takes place in S3, after War of the Coprophages. No spoilers. Mega MT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Indian Devil

Prologue

“Yes, but I... Yes sir, I understand.” The male FBI agent returned the phone to the receiver and leaned back in the cheap, motel chair. He sighed and massaged his temples. Suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, the man grabbed his coat and headed out into the still New England night. The ground was heavily blanketed in snow, and he was grateful he’d decided to bring his snow boots. He followed the path that wound through the tightly-packed pine trees, his standard-issue 9mm SIG-Sauer tucked reassuringly into the waistband of his jeans. The night was silent, save for the moaning of the wind through the trees. He had been walking for a while before he noticed he’d lost the trail. He backtracked for a few minutes until he spotted it through the trees. Relieved, the agent decided he had better head back to the motel before he got lost again. He set off along the path, this time paying closer attention to where he was going. After walking for about 10 minutes he thought he heard something behind him. He whipped his head around and scanned the trees around him, half expecting some manner of Sasquatch to jump out at him, but the woods were silent and dark. He turned back to the trail, chastising himself for allowing such wild ideas to enter his mind. After a few more uneventful minutes of walking, he heard the noise again; a barely-audible rustling coming from the surrounded woods. This time he knew he wasn’t just imagining it, and he slid his gun slowly out of his waistband. He hoped he was just being paranoid, and it was probably just a bat, or some other nocturnal animal, but he couldn’t suppress the feeling of dread that was growing with each passing minute. He continued back towards the motel, speeding up until he was jogging. The rustling behind him evolved into discernible footsteps, but every time he chanced a glance over his shoulder he saw nothing. The steps were getting closer and he knew he couldn’t outrun whatever it was. Fear-fueled adrenaline filled every cell of his body. He was sprinting now, gun swinging wildly at his side. In the darkness his foot caught on a root and sent him sprawling forwards. He landed on his stomach and rolled around, aiming his gun at something he couldn’t see. He waited until he could feel its rancid breath on his face, then he fired. He fired as the beast impacted with his chest, breaking ribs and tearing flesh. 

###  
January 11th, 1996  
###

FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder grabbed the two disposable coffee cups from the cupholders and the paper donut bag from the passengers seat and hurried towards the front door of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Inside, he flew past security and raced to catch the elevator that was preparing to depart. The doors slid shut just as he arrived, so he was forced to wait for the next one. In the elevator he pressed the floor button and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. After an eternity, the elevator stopped at the 6th floor and Mulder rushed out, juggling the coffee and donuts. He arrived in the office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner at exactly 8:23 am, and seated himself one of the two seats facing the AD’s desk. The other chair was occupied by his partner of 4 years, Medical Doctor and FBI Special Agent Dana Scully. The petite redhead gave him a small smile as he passed her a coffee and the bag of donuts. The Assistant Director was not so easily bought.  
“Mulder, you’re 20 minutes late!”  
“I brought coffee.” He held the cup up hopefully, but Skinner waved it away.  
“I was just informing Agent Scully of your latest assignment. You two will be taking over the ongoing investigation into a suspicious string of deaths in the town of Camden, Maine.”  
“If I may, sir,” Scully interjected, “What makes this an FBI case?”  
“Last night, one of our agents on vacation up there became victim number three,” Skinner said grimly. He handed Scully a thick, manila folder.  
“This is the case-file, look it over on the flight. Now, I know this isn’t the type of thing you usually handle, but I want this done quickly and cleanly. There’s a lot of pressure on me from higher up on this case. I want you on the next plane out.”  
Scully nodded, gathering the files and her coffee. Mulder grabbed the donuts and followed her out of the office. As they walked back to their basement office, Scully glanced over the files.  
“Three mysterious deaths so far, the first one in 1993… Markings on the bodies appear to be a result of animal attacks, and the victims were all eaten to some degree, but two sets of human footprints were found around each of the victims…” she read aloud.  
“Hang on, can I see that?”  
Scully handed the file to Mulder and assumed responsibility for the donuts as he read.  
“Look at this,” he pointed at one of the crime scene photos, “the second set of footprints were made by bare feet.”  
“Interesting,” Scully said as she swallowed a bite of donut, “We could be dealing with something like the Wild Woman in Atlantic City.”  
“I can’t think of anything else that would be wandering around barefoot in Maine in mid-winter. Not anything human, at least.”  
Scully shot him a look, but he just smiled and relieved her of the donut bag.

###

Two hours later, Mulder pulled up outside of Scully’s apartment building. He was about to go up to her apartment to get her when she emerged from the building, toting a suitcase and laptop bag. Mulder jogged up to her and took the suitcase.  
“Jeez, Scully, how many pairs of shoes did you bring?” he groaned, hefting the bag in his arms and trying to open the door to the back seat of the car.  
“You can never be too prepared, Mulder,” Scully said, holding the door open for him, “And knowing you, I’m going to need that first-aid kit before we’re through.”

###

The car ride to the airport was spent in comfortable silence, and the agents boarded the plane without incident. Scully let Mulder have the aisle seat since his legs were so much longer than hers. She squeezed in between Mulder and an overweight man with a halitosis problem. Mulder immediately pulled out the files and began reviewing them.  
“The FBI agent killed was Special Agent John Fillmore of the Organized Crime division. He was working out of the Boston field office, but was taking his vacation time up in Maine. He was found yesterday morning by a park ranger in the Camden Hills State Park. He’d been torn up pretty badly, and it looks like whatever killed him was hungry. The local sheriff is considering it a wild animal attack for now.”  
“But you don’t believe it was a wild animal attack.”  
It wasn’t a question, but Mulder answered, “I don’t know what I believe yet, Scully.”  
They lapsed into silence. Scully pulled out her laptop and Mulder continued to study the case. 20 minutes into the flight, the stewardess came by offering refreshments. Scully gratefully accepted a bottle of water, and Mulder was pleasantly surprised to find the airline offered complimentary packets of sunflower seeds. Mulder read more to her from the casefile. There were no obvious similarities between the victims; an older woman who had pulled over to the side of the road due to engine trouble, a birdwatcher, and the male FBI agent. All three victims were killed in or near the Camden Hills Woods, but the killings spanned over three years. The more she learned, the more convinced Scully became that the sheriff’s station was right and there was just a very aggressive bear prowling the woods. As much as she’d like to forget this whole thing and let the local law enforcement handle the rogue animal, she knew it was her duty as an FBI agent and as a human being to look into every detail of the case before coming to a conclusion. She just hoped Mulder wouldn’t get too carried away with whatever wild theory he was surely formulating at this very moment. When Mulder had finished reading her the victim profiles, the man sitting to Scully’s left leaned over to address her.  
“I couldn’t help but overhear you two talking about a ‘case’. So what are you, FBI?”  
Scully tried not to grimace as the man breathed in her face.  
“Yeah, we’re FBI agents,” Mulder said.  
“Really?” the man said excitedly, “I was just reading this article about an FBI agent who was abducted by extraterrestrials!”  
Mulder sat forward in interest and Scully groaned internally. She was glad Mulder was entertained, but now the man was leaning in even closer to her, talking animatedly to her partner. She spent the remainder of the flight trying not to breathe.

###

The Bureau had booked them two rooms at the Birchwood Motel, a small inn practically in the woods. Scully checked them in while Mulder carried their luggage to their rooms. He was grateful that the motel was only one story, but he it still took him ten minutes to find their rooms; two adjoining one-room, one-bathroom rooms with a view of the ocean. Mulder set down both suitcases and leaned against the wall to wait for Scully to come with the keys. She arrived only a few minutes later and handed him his room key. By the time they were unpacked, it was almost 9:00. Scully checked in with the local sheriff and made plans to examine the bodies as soon as possible, then since there was nothing else they could do, they ordered takeout Chinese food and settled in for the night.

###  
January 12th, 1996  
###

Mulder woke up at 5 am for no reason in particular. He tried to go back to sleep, but once his mind decided it was awake, it was awake for good. He decided he might as well make good use of the extra time, so he threw on a t shirt, a pair of sweats, and his running shoes and set off. The ice made the roads slick, so he had to be more cautious than usual, but the frigid air made him feel invigorated. As he always did when running, he let his feet do the thinking so his mind was free for other things; usually working on the current case. He was nearly positive that this was not the work of a serial killer, but he knew that in order to shift the focus of the investigation he would have to convince Scully of his theory. He ran over the case in his mind, sifting through the details in search of any patterns. The only thing all of the victims had in common was that they were in the woods at the time of death. He was reasonably sure they were dealing with something that was neither human nor animal, and something told him that the killings were not random, but targeted. Coming upon a cliff up ahead, he slowed to a walk and checked his watch.  
 _6:30 already? Shit!_  
He hadn’t brought his cell with him and he knew Scully was going to be waiting for him to join her for breakfast. He set off at a jog back the way he had come, hoping he’d be able to find his way back to the hotel. The sun had just begun to come up when he arrived, panting, outside the motel. He was relieved to see Scully’s door was closed, and hoped maybe she was still asleep. His hopes were dashed, however, when he realized he’d forgotten his key in his room. For a moment he considered going back down to the lobby to get a replacement, then he sucked it up and knocked on Scully’s door.

###

Dana Scully slowly awoke from a dreamless sleep. She checked the bedside clock; 5:40. She layed in bed for a few minutes, then rubbed her eyes and got up to shower. After she’d dressed she decided to head down to the lobby to grab coffee for herself and Mulder. Mulder’s door was closed, but she knew there was no way he was still asleep, so she knocked on the adjoining door. There was no answer, so she let herself in, figuring he was probably in the shower. She set the coffee down on the table and went over to the bathroom, but the door was open and the light was off. It was 6:45 now. She knew she was being paranoid and he’d probably just gone for an early morning run, but she couldn’t help the concern that was growing with each passing minute. There was, at the very least, a very hungry bear out there. She returned to her room to finish her coffee and had scarcely swallowed the last sip when someone knocked on her door. She tossed the empty paper cup and opened the door. Mulder stood in front of her, dripping sweat and looking sheepish.  
“Hey, sorry Scully, I went on a run and lost track of time… and I also locked my keys in my room…” He shrugged.  
She raised an eyebrow at him and opened her door wider wordlessly.  
“Thanks.” He grinned crookedly then walked to the door to his own room. “Hey, just give me ten minutes to get cleaned up then we can grab some coffee and discuss the case, alright?”  
“I’ve already eaten. There’s a coffee in your room. I’m heading to the morgue soon, do you mind catching a cab to the Sheriff’s?”  
“No problem.” He smiled, but Scully knew he regretted missing out on breakfast. Mulder disappeared into his room. Scully retrieved the car keys from the nightstand and grabbed her coat and laptop.

###

Mulder soon learned that the town of Camden didn’t actually have cabs. The concierge at the hotel gave him directions to the Sheriff’s station, which was only 3 miles from the hotel, so he started walking. The town was quaint, with a population of only 3,500 during winter months. During the hotter parts of the year, many wealthy New Englanders traveled up to experience the desirable Maine weather. Mulder found the small town feel was a nice departure from the hectic atmosphere of Washington DC. As he was approaching an intersection, a car pulled up next to him with words on the side reading City of Camden Sheriff’s Department. The uniformed man driving leaned out the window to look back at him.  
“Hey, I’ve never seen you around. You wouldn’t happen to be an FBI agent by the name of Scully or Mulder?” the man asked.  
“I’m Special Agent Mulder. Sheriff?”  
“Sheriff James Truman. Pleased to meet you, Special Agent Mulder.” Sheriff Truman leaned over to open the passenger door. “Hop in, Agent.”  
“Just Mulder is fine, Sheriff, thanks,” Mulder said, sliding into the passenger seat.  
Truman offered his hand and Mulder shook it. The Sheriff had hair that was a little longer than regulation, and his kind eyes crinkled when he smiled. Mulder immediately liked him. The drive to the station was a short one, but the two spent it chatting amiably about work, sports, and family. The Sheriff’s station was at a central location in the town. From the outside, the old, plaster building didn’t look like it had been entered in years, but the inside exuded a sense of well-used familiarity. Sheriff Truman ushered Mulder inside, and once they were both seated in Truman’s office with fresh coffee, Truman began to brief Mulder.  
“Before these deaths, our town had next to no crime. The last major case was almost 2 years ago; it was the murder of a local woman by a drifter who was just passing through, though he managed to evade a conviction by getting crucial evidence thrown out. Before that, the Sheriff’s department mostly dealt with resolving petty disputes between residents, finding lost pets, and the occasional fender bender. This string of deaths has shaken the town to its core and I want to catch whoever is responsible as quickly as possible,” Truman finished.  
Mulder listened in silence, and when Truman was done, he said, “Sheriff, do you happen to have a whiteboard somewhere?”  
Truman thought for a moment, then said, “No whiteboard, but we do have a large rolling chalkboard in the conference room.”  
“That’ll be great.” Mulder grinned, and accompanied the Sheriff to the conference room where a huge blackboard took up the better part of one wall. Mulder grabbed a piece of chalk and began sketching out a diagram. Truman sat down at the long table and watched in interest. When he had finished, Mulder had created a table organizing personal details of the victims.

 

Name / Age / Date Killed  
Occupation  
Town of Residence  
More Details

Maria Palmer / 68 / 12-3-93  
Retired kindergarten teacher  
Lincolnville, ME  
Driving from Lincolnville to visit sister in Camden, car broke down along highway, tow truck driver found body.

Antonio Guerra / 54 / 1-16-94  
Neurosurgeon  
Rockport, ME  
Surgeon at Pen Bay Medical Center in Rockport. Often took weekend trips to Camden Hills to birdwatch.

Mike Pinkman / 36 / 1-10-96  
FBI Agent  
Boston, MA  
Vacationing in Camden.

He stepped back from the chalkboard and sat down at the table. For ten minutes the two men simply stared at the board, searching for anything to connect the three victims, then Truman spoke.  
“Nothing jumps out at me, what about you?”  
Mulder shook his head, still studying the board.  
Truman stood up. “Why don’t we meet up with your partner at the morgue-- see if she’s found anything.”  
Mulder tore his eyes away from the blackboard and stood up next to the Sheriff. “Good idea, Sheriff. Let’s go.”

###

The morgue was only a few blocks away from the Sheriff’s station, and the drive only took 5 minutes. Mulder noticed there were hardly any cars on the road, and he didn’t see a single person outside. He mentioned it to Truman.  
“Yeah, ever since the first woman was killed, people have become extra cautious. Parents no longer let their children go outside alone, people lock their doors while they’re home, the whole town has a new air of suspicion that you would normally only encounter in a large city.”  
“I can understand why you want this taken care of quickly.” Mulder nodded sympathetically.  
They pulled up outside of a small building Truman said was shared between the morgue and the local veterinary clinic. Truman lead Mulder into the cold storage room where Scully, outfitted in scrubs, was just closing a stainless steel cold chamber. She walked over to Mulder and the Sheriff, removing her latex gloves.  
“Good morning, Sheriff.” She smiled, shaking his hand.  
“Agent Scully. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”  
“I’ve just finished my examination of the FBI agent, Mike Pinkman. My findings coincide with what the local ME has on file. Cause of death was blood loss as a result of multiple lacerations to the arms, face, and torso. Postmortem bite marks. I have to conclude that this looks like an animal attack.”  
Truman shook his head. “That’s what I was afraid of. Again, I’m sorry that the others aren’t available for examination, the families were very insistent on traditional proceedings taking place as soon as possible.”  
“I understand,” Scully said, discarding the used gloves and going to the sink to wash her hands. She’d just finished when the door opened again and an African American woman in green scrubs entered holding a manilla folder. She briefly smiled at Truman-- whose face, Mulder was amused to note, turned slightly pink-- then handed the folder to Scully.  
“Here’s the file, Dana.”  
“Thanks Paula.” Scully glanced over the contents of the file and closed it.  
“Agent Mulder, this is Dr. Paula Caldwell, Camden’s Medical Examiner,” Truman said.  
Mulder stepped forward and shook her hand. “Special Agent Fox Mulder. I see you’ve met Scully already.”  
“Yes, your partner’s quite the woman.”  
“I know.” Mulder grinned at Scully.  
“Anyways,” Scully changed the subject, “Dr. Caldwell was just telling me about the death of Julia Lynch, the murder that occurred here a few years back. I found it intriguing to say the least, so I asked to take a look at the file.” She handed the file to Mulder.  
He opened it up and scanned it. “Ms. Lynch was killed in November 1993? That’s only a few months before the death of the first victim. Could these two cases be related?”  
Sheriff Truman frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think so; like I said, Miss Lynch was killed by a man from out of town. It was a mugging gone wrong, not a serial killing. And the guy hightailed it out of town as soon as the judge ruled him innocent. Surely someone would have noticed if he was back.”  
Mulder nodded at the Sheriff’s explanation, but his eyebrows were still drawn down in thought. “Hey, do you think we could borrow this file for a little while?”  
Caldwell nodded. “Knock yourself out.”  
“Thanks.” Mulder grinned. “Hey, Scully what do you say we grab some lunch?”  
Scully nodded and retrieved her laptop case from the counter.  
“We’ll get out of your hair then.” Mulder winked at Truman as he ushered Scully out of the room.

###

“His name is Thomas Peterson, he should be 26 now, resident of Brunswick but search records for the whole state.… thanks, Pendrell.” Mulder waited as Agent Pendrell searched arrest records and death records for their man. After a few minutes of computer keyboard keys clicking, Pendrell returned to the phone to inform Mulder of the results of the search.  
“Thanks a lot, Pendrell.” Mulder hung up and turned to Scully, who was currently driving. “Ok, get this, Scully. Thomas Peterson was killed in Lincolnville just one week after the charges were dropped on the murder of Julia Lynch. And that’s not the weirdest part.”  
“What?”  
“Camden Hills State Park extends all the way up to Lincolnville, he was found on a wilderness trail in the park, mauled and eaten. His death was officially ruled the result of a bear attack.”

###

“Scully, there’s no way its a coincidence that the first murderer in Camden in years was murdered himself not a week later.” Mulder took another bite of his burger.  
“Not ‘murdered’, Mulder, mauled by a bear. And judging by this file, the man was not all that stable. If he was in those woods at night, it’s not that improbably that he could have been attacked by a wild animal.”  
Mulder sighed into his glass of water. Why did she have to do this with every case. She had a stubborn habit of clinging to the known even when proof of the unknown was staring her in the face. She was so rational that sometimes it was irrational.  
“Listen Scully, I’m not asking you to jump on the UFO bandwagon. I’m just asking you to not make any decisions until we investigate the full range of possibilities.”  
“And what do you think is responsible for this, Mulder?”  
Mulder hesitated for only a moment. “Scully, have you ever heard of the Windigo?”  
Scully sighed exasperatedly and set down her fork. “You have got to be kidding me, Mulder.”  
“No, no, just listen. According to Algonquin legend, it’s a beast that roams the woods of the North East, and it has an insatiable hunger for human flesh. That would explain the bare human footprints by the bodies and the nonhuman teeth marks.”  
“How does this line up with your theory that the victims were targeted?”  
“Well, I haven’t quite worked that part out yet. I just don’t want the Sheriff to blame these deaths on a bear and get us sent back to Washington before we have a chance to investigate.”  
“Alright, Mulder,” Scully said in resignation, “I’ll back you up with the Sheriff that the deaths aren’t the result of a wild animal attack, but just until we can find evidence to prove otherwise. Assuming we can.”  
“You’ve got a deal.” He grinned at her and waved the waitress over. “Two milkshakes please. I’m buying.”

###

After lunch, the two FBI agents returned to their hotel to change into hiking clothes, then headed back to the station to meet up with the Sheriff so he could show them the most recent crime scene.  
Truman handed each of them a backpack similar to his own. “I wasn’t sure if you’d brought hiking gear, so I packed up some food, water, and emergency supplies just in case. Now the crime scene is about a three hour hike each way. If we were to drive up to Lincolnville we could hike in from the North and that would only take an hour and a half, but I figured you’d like to see some of the countryside while you’re here. If we leave now we can be back before dark with over an hour to spare.”  
They piled their things in the trunk of the Sheriff’s 1991 Crown Victoria, and climbed in. Mulder insisted Scully take the passenger seat, which truthfully she was thankful for because she did not relish the idea of getting motion sickness. She spent the first part of the 30 minute drive talking to Sheriff Truman. She found him to be much more agreeable than most of the small-town Sheriffs they had worked with before. Truman explained that his father had been an agent with the Bureau, and had inspired him to go into law enforcement in the first place. He’d originally tried to join the FBI, but his asthma had prevented him from meeting the physical fitness requirements.  
“After being rejected by the Bureau, I returned to Camden, where I grew up, and joined on as a Deputy, until about six years ago when Sheriff Baker retired and I took over,” Truman explained.  
Mulder, who was sitting behind the driver’s seat, leaned forward. “Where did you say you went to school?”  
“University of Virginia. Studied Political Science if you can believe it.”  
“Oh, my brother Charlie went there, class of ‘89!” Scully exclaimed.  
“Charlie… Charlie Scully... I think he was a student in one of the classes I aided for, Yeah he was a freshman when I was a senior.”  
Scully turned back to look at Mulder, just in time to see the SUV behind them speed up to pass them, then swerve out of its lane and barrel straight towards them. She barely had time to process it before the world turned upside down and then black.

###

The first thing she felt was the pain in her head. She nearly passed out again, but a voice in the back of her mind told her she needed to get up. She struggled through the murkiness of her mind to figure out why it was so important that she wake up. Then she remembered the car... the car coming towards them... the car colliding with their car at 65 miles per hour. The fog was replaced by fear, and she finally opened her eyes all the way. She shoved the airbag down out of her face. Thankfully the car was right side up, even though the various bruises adorning her body told her it had probably rolled. She took a quick inventory of her body parts, and finding nothing missing, she turned her attention to the other occupants of the car. Mulder was unconscious, his head resting on his chest. There was a bloody bump on his temple where it looked like his head had collided with the window of the car. While it could have repercussions later, there wasn’t anything she could do about it right now, so Scully turned to Truman. The Sheriff looked like he was the least bad off. The closeness of the driver’s airbag to the driver had prevented the initial impact from throwing him around the car as it had the other two. Scully reached out to his neck to check his pulse and was pleased to find that it was strong and steady, if not a little fast. Truman groaned and his eyes snapped open.  
“Agent Scully,” he muttered, “Are you okay?”  
“I think so,” Scully nodded, “but I don’t know about Mulder. We need to get him out of the car.”  
Truman nodded and managed to undo his seatbelt. Scully unbuckled herself and tried the door.  
“My door’s been crushed shut, yours?”  
Truman pulled the handle and pressed his weight against his door for a few seconds.  
“No luck,” he said, sitting back. Scully drew her legs up, and after a bit of gasping, managed to climb into the backseat next to Mulder. In the front, Truman fiddled with the dials on the radio until a signal came in.  
“Got it!” he exclaimed triumphantly. Scully leaned over Mulder, feeling his body for further cuts or breaks. He seemed intact for the most part, except for some possible broken ribs.  
“The nearest hospital is down in Rockport,” Truman said, “An ambulance is on the way, but it’s a 20 minute drive at best.”  
Scully nodded and shook Mulder gently. “Mulder, can you hear me?” she lifted both of his eyelids up in turn. The pupils appeared to be normal, so he probably didn’t have a concussion, but she wouldn’t be able to relax until he was safely in a hospital bed. She undid his seatbelt and positioned his upper body so that his head was resting on her lap. She tore a piece of fabric from her shirt and began to dab at the cut on his head. Not for the first time, she wished they hadn’t put all of the supplies in the trunk. They waited for the ambulance in tense silence. Truman tried to make polite conversation once, but neither of them was really in the mood. What seemed like an eternity passed before red and blue lights flashed at them through the windows. At this point, Scully was a little concerned that Mulder hadn’t woken up yet, despite her having made multiple, if half hearted, attempts to rouse him. A man in a firefighter’s uniform rapped on Truman’s window and held up a crowbar. The Sheriff gave the firefighter the thumbs up and crawled into the passenger seat. The firefighter made short work of the door, and it hung lopsidedly open as Truman climbed out. The Sheriff was hustled to the waiting ambulance as an EMT crawled into the driver’s seat and listened as Scully filled him in on Mulder’s condition.  
“There’s a large contusion on the left temple, risk of concussion. Possible punctured lung as a result of fractured ribs. He’s been unconscious since the crash, and unresponsive, but pulse is steady.”  
The EMT jotted a few notes down on a scrap of paper and left the car. A few minutes later he returned and informed her that they didn’t think it was a good idea to attempt to remove Mulder through the driver’s door, so they were going to take off the left, back door. They got the door off as quickly as the first, and Scully supported Mulder’s head as the paramedics lifted him from the car. An EMT attempted to check her out as she got out of the car, but she brushed him off and followed the two transporting Mulder to the ambulance. The car that had hit them was off the side of the road, the front entirely crushed, and two Sheriff’s deputies were poking around in the backseat with flashlights. Sheriff Truman was directing the deputies in their search.  
He walked over to Scully. “The cab is empty but there’s blood on the seat. Whoever this guy is, he can’t get far. I can handle things here if you want to accompany your partner to the hospital.”  
Scully smiled gratefully at him and climbed into the back of the ambulance next to Mulder.

###

Mulder woke up on the ambulance, but panicked and tried to remove the tube from his throat, so the paramedics had to sedate him. He was still sleeping when they arrived at the Pen Bay Medical Center and he was taken into the ER. Scully had to stay in the waiting room as Mulder was taken in for a head CT scan. For 20 minutes she waited anxiously, drinking oily waiting room coffee until a doctor finally approached her.  
“Dr. Scully? I understand you’re Agent Mulder’s partner?”  
“And next of kin,” Scully said, a little more forcefully than she intended.  
“Yes, well, I’m the resident neurologist, Dr. Garrett Jones. We’ve determined that the head injury is not serious at the time, though we’ll need to keep him in overnight for observation. He’s being taken to Radiology for an x-ray of his ribs, but you should be able to see him within the hour.”  
Scully let out a relieved breath and sat down on a vinyl hospital chair. “Thank you Dr. Jones.”  
“No problem, Agent Scully.” Dr. Jones turned and disappeared through the swinging doors into the Neurology department.

###

After 40 more minutes and 3 cups of coffee, a nurse emerged from Neurology and escorted Scully through a maze of hallways until they reached a room in the Intensive Care wing. Mulder was still asleep, the bandage wound tightly around his forehead causing his skin to look even more pale than it already was. The nurse moved to his bedside and fiddled with a few settings on the heart monitor before leaving to give them some privacy. Scully sank down in the chair next to the bed and grasped Mulder’s hand. It was colder than she had expected, and she subconsciously began to run her thumb over his knuckles. Just as she was reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, he gave a sigh and his eyes fluttered open. Scully jerked her hand away quickly and placed it back in her lap, blushing slightly.  
Mulder focused on her slowly. “Hey, Scully.” He gave her a crooked grin.  
“Hi Mulder,” she returned the grin, “do you remember anything?”  
Mulder considered for a moment. “No… last thing I remember is leaving the hotel to meet up with the Sheriff.” He grimaced and reached up to feel the bandage on his head.  
“Our car was hit on the way to the crime scene. You hit your head and broke a couple ribs.”  
Mulder sat up a little and scanned her over. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt?”  
“I’m fine,” she smiled reassuringly, “Sheriff Truman and I were protected by the airbags. You got the worst of it.”  
“What about the car that hit us?” Mulder asked.  
“By the time the emergency crews arrived, the driver of the car had fled.”  
“And the case?” Mulder frowned.  
“Well, I called the Sheriff while I was waiting to see you, and he thinks the best course of action would be to continue on with the investigation as usual. He and I will work together until you’re discharged in a couple of days. In the meantime, you need to rest, and I’ll keep you updated.”  
Mulder didn’t look happy, but he nodded and promised to try to sleep. Scully stayed until the nurse kicked her out around 8 pm. She left, promising to visit him first thing in the morning.  
Scully returned to the hotel to clean herself up. She gave herself a thorough examination and found her only injury was a long bruise across her body inflicted by the seat-belt. She took a long shower, then fell into bed and passed out immediately.

###  
January 13th, 1996  
###

It felt like she had only been asleep for a few minutes when Scully was awakened by the chirp of her cell phone. She groped the nightstand for a few seconds before she located it.  
“Scully,” she answered sleepily.  
“Agent Scully, Sheriff Truman. Sorry to wake you, but we’ve found the driver responsible for the crash. I think you oughta come down here and see this.”  
Scully sighed and sat up to check the time. The clock on the nightstand read 3:28 am. “I’ll be there in 15.”

###

Sheriff Truman’s directions led her to a wooded service road off the main highway. She would have missed it had it not been for the flashing red and blue of the ambulance parked a few yards in. Scully pulled up behind the Sheriff’s Deputy car that had been parked haphazardly off the side of the road. She stepped out of the car, shrugging her wool jacket on as she stepped under the yellow police tape that was tied between two trees. Sheriff Truman was standing over the body of a man lying partly buried in the snow. Standing next to the Sheriff was another man dressed in the same tan uniform and Stetson. Scully approached the two men.  
“Agent Scully,” Truman greeted, shaking her hand, “this is Deputy Williams,” he gestured towards the man to his left. They shook hands, then Scully crouched to examine the body. It was a gruesome sight. The man’s greasy, shoulder-length hair framed a face that was completely unrecognizable as human. The flesh looked like it had been torn away by the claws of a large animal, and the rest of his body was in worse shape. She pulled a pair of examination gloves out of her coat pocket and snapped them on. She lifted the man’s right hand to her face and examined the fingernails.  
“Either of you have a flashlight?” She glanced up at the two officers.  
Deputy Williams handed her the one from his belt wordlessly. She flicked it on and shone the beam at the fingertips so she could see underneath the nails.  
“There’s hair underneath his nails,” she said, handing the light back to Williams, “I’m not going to be able to get much more out here. We need to get him back to the morgue so I can do a full autopsy.”  
Truman waved his hand and the two EMTs moved in with a stretcher. Scully returned to her car and shoved her surgical gloves into the glove compartment. She pulled out onto the highway and began the long drive back to town.

###

The second time Mulder woke up he was disappointed to find that the seat next to his bed was unoccupied once again. He struggled to sit up in bed, wincing more than a few times in the process. He pushed the sheet off himself and was slightly mortified to find that he was wearing only his boxers. He stood slowly, clutching the swathe of bandages wrapped around his midsection and moved stiffly to the closet across the room in which he assumed his clothes were stored. He was in the process of putting his pants on when a dark-haired nurse entered his room. The nurse stopped short when she spotted Mulder out of bed.  
“Excuse me, sir, what do you think you’re doing?”  
“Getting dressed,” Mulder grunted, putting one arm through the sleeve of his shirt.  
“You can’t be up and about, you were in a severe car accident less than 24 hours ago,” the nurse insisted, hovering nervously by the door.  
“I’m discharging myself.” He attempted to brush past her, but the effect was lost when a wave of vertigo hit him and he was forced to put a hand on her shoulder for support. After a few seconds he straightened up again.  
“I’m getting the doctor,” the nurse said huffily, and she swept out of the room.  
Mulder realized that he’d left his cell phone at the motel, but he found enough change for a payphone in his jeans pockets so he headed out the door before the doctor could arrive and lecture him. He checked himself out against doctor’s orders at reception, and called Sheriff Truman on the lobby payphone. 

###

Truman pulled up outside the hospital 35 minutes later and jumped out of driver’s seat to hold the passenger door open for Mulder. Mulder got into the car gingerly and thanked Truman.  
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Truman said, pulling out into traffic.  
“I’ve had worse, trust me, I’ll be fine. Oh, and Sheriff,” he added as an afterthought, “do me a favor and don’t let Scully know I’m out of the hospital. She’ll find out soon enough.”  
“Just as long as you can do your job,” Truman agreed, “Anyways, we found the driver that hit us early this morning. By running his license plate we got a name; Jonathan Hyde, resident of a town northwest of here called Liberty. The circumstances of his death match all of the previous ones, although we still don’t know what caused him to ram us with his car.”  
“Does it strike you as odd that all of the victims have been from out-of-town?” Mulder asked.  
“Now that you mention it, that is a little strange. I’d been chalking it up to tourist foolishness, but now that six people have died, none of them local, I think it’s past reasonable coincidence..”  
“Yeah, and there are plenty of tourists around but the killer seems to be targeting only specific people. Well, at least we have an angle to pursue now.” Mulder chuckled slightly, “It’s funny, I’m not used to having someone taking my theories seriously.”  
“Your partner stubborn?” Truman queried.  
“That’s one way of putting it I guess.” Mulder shrugged, and Truman let it drop.

###

The Sheriff pulled up outside of the station and the two men hurried inside out of the developing snowstorm. The Sheriff showed Mulder the dusty file room and left to make some phone calls. Mulder settled himself in the only chair in the room, a creaky desk chair that released puffs of dust every time Mulder moved. He opened the file of Maria Palmer and began to read, pausing to write down the names and addresses of the listed relatives and associates. He’d just finished going through the file of the third victim when a uniformed man wearing a Deputy’s badge appeared in the doorway.  
“Agent Mulder,” he said, crooking a thumb over his shoulder, “Agent Scully is on the phone for you.”  
Mulder metaphorically gulped and followed the Deputy down the hall to the reception area.  
“Hey,” he answered, cradling the rotary phone’s headset between his shoulder and head.  
“Mulder, just what the hell do you think you’re doing!” Scully immediately yelled. Mulder winced and held the phone farther away from his ear.  
“Listen, Scully, I’m fine. I got some rest just like you told me to and now I feel as good as new.”  
“I don’t care how you feel, Mulder,” Scully hissed, “you have three broken ribs that could become a serious problem if aggravated. As your doctor, I’m insisting that you return to the hospital immediately.”  
From the corner of his eye Mulder spotted Truman enter the station carrying a box of donuts. “Uh, listen, Scully I’m gonna have to call you back later,” he said quickly, setting the phone back down on the switch hook despite Scully’s protests. He walked over to where the Sheriff was setting the donuts down on the counter and helped himself to the pot of coffee. Donut and coffee cup in hand, Mulder retreated to the file room once more to finish reading.

###

Dana Scully was furious. She had just finished her autopsy of the latest victim when a nurse from the hospital called her to inform her that a Fox Mulder had just checked himself out of the hospital against doctor’s orders. First she dialed Mulder’s cell, determined to give him a piece of her mind, but after a few rings she realized he’d left it in the hotel room this morning. So she dialed the number for the Sheriff’s station and demanded to speak to her partner. Mulder’s feeble excuse and hasty goodbye only increased her growing desire to throttle him. Scully checked in with Dr. Caldwell then headed over to the Sheriff’s station.

###

30 minutes later, Mulder drained the rest of his coffee and closed the file of Jonathan Hyde. Hyde’s file was by far the thinnest. He was a single, unemployed, high school dropout, living comfortably off of inheritance money from his parents. He had no criminal record, no living relatives, nothing to give a clue as to why he’d been targeted. The only possibly bit of useful information in the file was the name of the hotel he’d been staying in. Mulder sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. He wished Scully were here; talking things through with her always helped him think. He stood up slowly, wincing as his ribs shifted painfully. He made his way to the station’s conference room and added Jonathan Hyde’s details to the chart on the chalkboard. He stepped back and stared at the board for a while, but Hyde’s death only made things more confusing. Mulder left the conference room feeling disheartened and ran into Truman in the hallway.  
“Find anything useful in those files?” Truman asked.  
“Not really.” Mulder grimaced. “I figured we can check out Hyde’s hotel room today, though. Oh yeah, I also wanted to see the transcripts of Sheriff Baker’s interview with Maria Palmer’s sister, if you have those.”  
“No problem, I’ll have Deputy Williams find them for you.”  
“Thanks Sheriff.” Mulder’s attention was caught by movement outside, and he turned in time to see Scully enter through the front door.  
“Hi Scully.” He grinned.  
Scully greeted him with a grunt. She’d had a chance to cool down on the drive over and her anger had diminished to mild irritation.  
“The Sheriff and I were just about to head over to the Cedar Crest Inn to check out the room of Jonathan Hyde. Care to join us?” Mulder offered, knowing he was only putting off the inevitable lecture. Scully wasn’t happy that Mulder was going anywhere but back to the hospital, but she agreed to accompany them. If Mulder insisted on working the case, the least she could do was make sure he didn’t injure himself further in the process. The Sheriff offered to drive, since the agents’ rental wasn’t equipped with snow tires and it was now snowing quite heavily. The Cedar Crest Inn was in the southernmost part of town, barely inside the town’s limits. The white, two-story, farmhouse-style inn had a small-town feeling similar to the rest of the town. Mulder wondered briefly how an unemployed man could afford such stately accommodations, and made a note to find out. Mulder followed Scully and Truman into the lobby of the building where a young man in a traditional concierge’s uniform greeted them.  
“Afternoon, Sheriff.” The man’s slight Northeast accent was audible in the second syllable of “after”.  
The Sheriff shook hands with the boy. “These are agents Mulder and Scully of the FBI, we’re going to need to take a look at a room reserved under the name ‘Jonathan Hyde’.”  
The concierge’s eyes widened a little as Mulder and Scully displayed their badges. He leaned over the computer and tapped a few keys.  
“Yes sir, that’ll be Room 14, one moment.” He opened a drawer and rifled through it for a moment before producing a key. “Down that hallway, second one on your right. Just let me know if there’s anything else you folks need,” he said, handing the key to Truman.  
“Thanks, son.” Truman clapped him on the shoulder then led the way towards the room.

###

Hyde’s room was spotless. Not a single belonging was out of place, and the only thing that suggested it had been occupied at some point was a neatly-packed suitcase at the foot of the bed. Scully handed pairs of gloves to both Truman and Mulder, then donned a pair herself. She knelt next to the suitcase and began to carefully inspect each article of clothing. Mulder wandered into the bathroom and flicked the light on. He checked in the medicine cabinet, under the sink, and in the shower for any more of Hyde’s personal belongings. Nothing presented itself to him immediately, but the bottle of salon-brand shampoo in the shower struck him as odd. He returned to the main room where Scully was placing the clothing back into the suitcase.  
“Find anything?” he asked, leaning slightly against the desk.  
Scully sighed and stood. “Nothing out of the ordinary. There’s two or three days worth of clothing in there, and they all appear to be clean so he can’t have been in town long. Besides that, there’s just normal stuff; a toothbrush, deodorant, some magazines.”  
“Scully, does this guy strike you as someone overly conscious of personal hygiene?”  
Scully thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not particularly, no.”  
For a second, Mulder lost his train of thought, distracted by the way Scully’s hair came to rest softly on her shoulders. He swallowed and pushed that thought far away.  
“Pravana, that’s a relatively expensive brand of shampoo isn’t it?”  
“Yeah, they specialize in hair dye-safe products,” Truman supplied.  
Mulder shot him a puzzled look but continued, “Well there’s a bottle of it in the shower. I doubt our boy was in the habit of buying expensive shampoo.”  
“So you think he was meeting someone here? A woman?” Scully asked.  
Mulder nodded. “Yes, and by the looks of it, someone married. This whole thing screams ‘affair’.”  
“Okay, so we’re looking for a married woman who dyes her hair and uses Pravana hair products. That still doesn’t narrow things down much.”  
“Actually,” the Sheriff said, looking slightly uncomfortable, “I might have an idea of who this woman is. Michelle Austin; if I’m not mistaken you’ll find that she uses the same hair product.”  
“Great.” Mulder looked from the Sheriff to Scully. “Well, let’s go talk to her, then.”  
“Actually, I’ll stay here and wait for Deputy Hawkins to help me process this stuff,” Truman said a little stiffly, “I’d prefer if you two take this one, it’s a little personal for me. Here, take my car, I’ll catch a ride with Deputy Hawkins.” He handed the keys to Mulder, and wrote the address down on a piece of paper from his notebook.  
“Thank you Sheriff,” Scully said, taking the address from him. As they were walking out of the room, Scully snatched the car keys from Mulder. “I’m driving.”

###

“Nice digs.” Mulder let out a low whistle of appreciation as the two FBI agents pulled up outside the house of Robert and Michelle Austin. Scully watched as Mulder climbed out of the car one leg at a time, clearly trying to hide the pain he was in. She didn’t mention it, knowing that it would only make him less likely to accept help from her. They made their way up the long driveway of the seaside house, although Scully felt like the word ‘house’ did not do it full justice. The size of the house was matched only by the sprawling snow-laden lawn around it. A luxury car was parked in the driveway, and Scully didn’t doubt there were at least two more in the garage. Mulder pressed the doorbell and the two waited in silence on the porch. After a long moment, the door opened a crack and one bloodshot eye came to peer out.  
“Evening,” Mulder greeted, “Mrs. Austin?”  
The woman gave a grunt that Mulder took as a ‘yes’.  
“I’m Agent Mulder and this is my partner Agent Scully. We have a few questions for you. May we come in?”  
The blonde woman opened the door a little wider, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why are you here?” Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been yelling.  
“We have a few questions about a man named Jonathan Hyde,” Scully supplied.  
Michelle Austin’s already tanned face visibly whitened at Scully’s words. Taking a deep breath, the woman swung the door open and stepped back. “Come in.”  
Mulder and Scully followed Mrs. Austin into a spacious sitting room where she settled in a chair and gestured for them to sit on the couch. Michelle’s eyes were red-rimmed and her face was devoid of makeup. Her matted hair and flannel pajamas clashed with the carefully manicured nails that suggested that she wasn’t the type to leave the house without careful preparation. Mulder jumped into the interview immediately.  
“Mrs. Austin, were you having an affair with Jonathan Hyde?”  
Scully gave him a sideways glance, surprised at his bluntness, but Michelle pulled a stained tissue from her pocket and blew into it.  
“H-how did you find out?” she asked shakily.  
“You left your shampoo in the hotel room,” Scully explained gently.  
“Jim sent you, didn’t he?” Michelle asked, burying her nose in the tissue again.  
“Sheriff Truman recognized the shampoo as yours, yes.”  
“If I may,” Mulder asked, curious, “how do you and Sheriff Truman know each other?”  
“He didn’t tell you? Jim and I used to be engaged. A very long time ago.”  
Mulder exchanged a surprised glance with Scully.  
“He didn’t mention that, no,” Scully said, “but that’s not what we’re here for. How long had you been seeing Mr. Hyde?”  
“Our one-year anniversary of meeting was just last week,” Michelle sniffled.  
“And your husband never found out? By the way, where is Mr. Austin?”  
“He’s on a business trip in New York. That’s why Jon was here this week. Robert is away so often that I doubt he would have ever noticed anyways.” Michelle dabbed delicately at her eyes.  
“When was the last time you saw Jonathan?” Scully asked.  
“The day before yesterday. We met in his hotel room.”  
“And how did he seem that day? Was he acting strangely?” asked Mulder.  
“No… he was his usual self… Jonathan and I were going to run away together. I can’t believe he’s gone.” A sob racked the woman’s petite frame, and she excused herself to clean up. Scully turned to Mulder, who was struggling to find a position on the couch that didn’t cause him a great deal of pain. A few seconds after Michelle left, Mulder gave up altogether and stood up to pace the room. The sitting room was large and spacious, containing only the couch, two chairs, and a single bookshelf. A few framed pieces of art adorned the walls. Mulder wandered into the parlor next door, which had a few more pieces of furniture but still no personal items. The lack of family photos, knick-knacks, and the usual keepsakes that couples collected over time suggested to Mulder that any love that might have been present in this marriage at its start had long since faded. Sitting open on the coffee table was Michelle’s laptop. Mulder glanced guiltily back towards the sitting room, then stooped over the computer. Michelle’s email inbox was opened in an internet browser window, Mulder clicked to open the first email on the list. It was marked received three days ago, from an anonymous sender. The email was short and private, and Mulder felt even guiltier than before. The bulk of the email was a proposition from the sender to Michelle that involved leaving her husband and Camden to live on a tropical island in the Atlantic. Mulder clicked back to the inbox page and returned to the sitting room where Scully was flipping through a book from the shelf. When Michelle returned, Mulder scribbled his cell phone number down on a piece of paper, telling Michelle to call if she remembered anything, and the two agents headed back out into the snow.

###

Scully drove them back to the morgue, where the dead FBI agent’s possessions were still being held. The agents took the basket of items to the empty examination room and poured it out on the table. Mulder left to call Sheriff Truman and fill him in on their interview while Scully put on gloves to examine the items. She picked up a worn, leather wallet and flipped through it. There was about $20 in cash, a few credit cards, and a punch card for the Blue Hill Tavern in Baltimore. Idly, Scully flipped the punch card over, and was surprised to find a local phone number written in cramped, blue ink. Scully pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed the number. On the third ring, a deep male voice answered.  
“Ayuh?”  
“This is Agent Scully with the FBI, to whom am I speaking?”  
The man’s breathing audibly hitched, followed by a few seconds of silence, and then a dial tone. Scully put the phone down, silently berating herself for letting a lead slip away so easily. She set the card aside and picked up the agent’s service weapon; a handgun identical to the one holstered at her own side. She released the clip and checked the chamber-- three shots had been discharged, which was unsurprising considering the manner in which the man had died. Though it did strike her as a little strange that the agent had been carrying his weapon while on vacation. She had just set the gun back into the basket when Mulder returned.  
“Find anything?” he asked.  
“Maybe. There’s a phone number written down on the back of this card, and it’s a local number. When I called and identified myself, he hung up almost immediately.”  
“That’s worth looking into… Truman will be back in a few, so we’ll have him run the number through his records.” Mulder pulled up the other stool to the table and sat down gingerly. Scully noticed he was breathing a little harder than normal, and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.  
She frowned at him. “Mulder, why don’t you go back to the hotel and get some rest. I’ll handle things here with the Sheriff. I’ll stop by in”  
Scully could see his ego and his physical weariness battling it out, but eventually his expression became resigned and she knew which had won.  
“That sounds like a good idea, Scully, thanks.” He grabbed his coat and Scully’s keys from the counter.  
“I’ll stop by in a few hours and fill you in.”  
“Thanks.” He smiled gratefully and left. Scully returned to the items on the table. The ballpoint pen and handful of coins seemed normal enough, and finding nothing else, Scully put the things back into the basket and returned it to Dr. Caldwell in her office.  
“How’s the investigation going?” Dr. Caldwell asked as Scully sat down in the chair across from her.  
“Not all too well, I’m afraid.” Scully sighed. “We aren’t finding a connection between the victims, and judging by the pattern so far, it won’t be long before the killer strikes again. I just hope something breaks before that.”  
The medical examiner nodded sympathetically. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know. There isn’t this much excitement up here normally.”  
Scully leaned forward and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Paula, do you have any idea why someone from Camden might want to kill others from out of town?”  
“Do you think that’s the connection?”  
“It’s a theory. Mulder thinks these deaths are somehow connected to the death of Julia Lynch in 1993. While I don’t necessarily agree with him, I do think her killer was somehow connected to the killer we’re looking for now.”  
“That’s going to be tough to prove.” Caldwell frowned.  
Scully sighed. “That seems to be in my job description.”

###

The drive back to the hotel was slightly harrowing without snow tires, but Mulder arrived without major incident. He changed into sweats, then pulled out his laptop and sat down on the bed. He worked through the casefile, plugging key words into the search engine as he went. After an hour of searching, ‘bear attacks Maine’ yielded no more relevant results than ‘cannibalistic serial killings’, and he closed the computer resignedly. Mulder knew he wasn’t likely to catch any sleep with the details of the case buzzing around in his brain as they were, so he slipped on his coat and running shoes and made for the door. The streets were too icy to run on, so he headed into the woods behind the hotel. The thickly interwoven branches created a shield from the snowy sky, so the forest floor was dark and dry. He knew what Scully would say to his recklessly entering the woods alone, but he knew that if he could just catch a glimpse of this creature-- figure out what it was --that they might be able to figure out how to end the killings before anyone else died. Coming to a branch in the path, Mulder chose the left fork and continued jogging. His ribs forced him to go slower than he would have liked, but he found that the dull throb in his chest helped to clear his head. After about 30 minutes the trail started to go downhill, and he decided he’d better turn around before he wasn’t able to make it all the way back to the hotel. He was approaching the fork again when he heard something move in the trees to his right. He stopped immediately and stared into the woods, listening intently. A few seconds later, another shuffling sound, closer this time. He backed away from the trees slowly. Instinctually, his right hand moved towards the hip where his gun normally was. He’d hardly moved when something large and dark flew at him from the woods. It crashed into his chest, causing him to reel backwards as white pain spotted his vision. He fell backwards onto the forest floor as he felt something sharp dig into the flesh of his shoulder. The smell of decaying flesh overwhelmed Mulder’s senses.  
“Wait, please!” he cried raggedly. Whatever was cutting into his shoulder stopped momentarily, and withdrew. The pressure on his chest was relieved. Mulder felt the blood begin to seep out of the wound. He tried to get a glimpse of whatever had attacked him, but it had moved back into the shadows. Two pale eyes stared at him from out of the darkness.  
“Listen to me, I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help,” he gasped out. The creature seemed to be considering him. There was a definite intelligence behind the eyes, a curiosity uniquely human. Mulder searched the shadows, attempting to see the rest of the creature, but it only shuffled farther into darkness. He propped himself up on one elbow, raising the other hand in a conciliatory gesture.  
“Please. Help me understand why you’re doing this.”  
The eyes stared at him, unblinking. He tried again.  
“I know you’re smart. What are you protecting?”  
Still no response from the creature. From the trail behind Mulder, a sound startled him, and he shifted to look. A pair of hikers was quickly approaching him. He glanced back to where the creature had been, but it was gone. He cursed, and sat up slowly. The hikers reached him. Dropping his walking stick, the male hiker stooped to help Mulder up.  
“Are you okay? We heard yelling.” Catching sight of Mulder’s injured shoulder, the man stopped short. “What happened?”  
“Bear,” Mulder grunted, leaning heavily on the hiker.  
“Bev, get the first aid kit,” the male hiker addressed his companion.  
“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” Mulder protested.  
Ignoring him, the hikers set about bandaging the cut on his shoulder.  
“What are you doing out here alone?” the man asked as he put the roll of gauze back into the first aid bag.  
“I was just going for a run.”  
“Well I hope you’ve learned your lesson. These woods can be a dangerous place.”  
“I’ll be more careful in the future,” Mulder assured, shaking each of their hands in turn, “I’ll just head back now, thank you for the help.”  
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” The man looked concerned.  
“The road’s just a ten minute walk that way.” Mulder waved in the direction of the hotel.  
“Well, if you’re sure. Make sure you get that checked out. That’s gonna need stitches.”  
Mulder waved as the two hikers set off in the opposite direction. When they were out of sight, he hurried over to where he had last seen the creature, and searched the ground, but there was no evidence it had ever been there. Frustrated, he started the walk back to the hotel.

###

Sheriff Truman dropped Scully off at the hotel around 6:00 pm. She made arrangements with him to meet up at the diner in two hours to discuss the case. The door to Mulder’s room was closed, so rather than disturb his sleep, she went into her own room, and laid back on the bed. Before she knew it, she was dozing soundly. She jerked awake not much longer. Checking the time, she knew she had to wake Mulder up if they were to make dinner with the Sheriff on time. Still feeling exhausted, she dragged herself out of bed and to the adjoining door between her and Mulder’s room. She tapped lightly on the door.  
“Mulder?” There was no answer, so she opened the door. Mulder was asleep on top of the bed comforter, looking even more exhausted than when she had last seen him, if that was possible. He was wearing a partly-buttoned white shirt and boxers, and it looked like he’d barely made it to the bed before falling asleep. She moved to the bedside and shook him gently.  
“Mulder,” she said softly. Her touch startled him, and he sat up in bed quickly, then leaned back slowly as his head spun.  
“Scully,” he said hoarsely, smiling at her.  
“Evening, Mulder.” She smiled back. “Sleep well?”  
“Decently,” he lied. Judging by the time on the nightstand clock, he’d only slept for about half an hour.  
“Good, because we’re meeting Sheriff Truman for dinner in twenty minutes.”  
“Alright, just give me ten minutes to shower,” he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. Scully returned to her room to give him some privacy as he showered and dressed, careful to  
keep his bandaged shoulder hidden. He retrieved his bloodstained sweats from the floor of the bathroom where he’d hastily undressed earlier, and wrapped them in a towel, then shoved them in his suitcase. Fully dressed, he knocked on Scully’s door and went in. She was waiting for him, and they left for the diner.

###

Cuzzy’s Restaurant was a small place on the water that served cheap burgers and beer.  
 _Just the sort of place Mulder would have picked out for them_ , Scully thought wryly.  
The agents entered the cozy eatery and were immediately escorted to a table in the corner where the Sheriff was already seated.  
“Find the place ok?” he greeted, “The best burgers on the East coast are served here.” He hailed the waitress and ordered a burger for himself and Mulder. Scully politely declined, ordering herself a salad instead. As they ate, Truman filled them in on what he’d found out from the phone number in Jonathan Hyde’s wallet.  
“So, I ran the number through our database. Turns out it’s the personal home phone number of Larry Chester, who runs the local automobile repair place.”  
“Why would Agent Pinkman be talking to an automobile repair guy? Wasn’t he using a rental?” Scully asked.  
“Exactly. So I gave Larry a visit, convinced him that if he doesn’t talk to us he’ll be facing obstruction of justice and accessory to murder charges. He sang like a canary.”  
“Nice job, Sheriff.” Mulder smiled and popped a fry into his mouth. “What did you find out?”  
“He spilled the beans about a drug smuggling ring operating in northern Maine and Canada. Apparently Agent Pinkman was in the middle of it, and when Larry started to get cold feet about it, Pinkman threatened him.”  
“An international drug ring involving a US federal agent… this is big,” Scully said grimly.  
“I waited to contact the FBI, I figured you would want to do it.”  
Mulder nodded. “Thanks Sheriff. I’ll go give Skinner a call, and when I get back we’ll order ice cream.” Mulder grinned and went outside to call the Assistant Director.

###

“You’d better be damn sure this sources is reliable, Agent Mulder. I don’t take ruining a man’s professional reputation lightly.”  
“This is coming from the Sheriff, sir, a man who has gained my full trust in the short time I’ve known him. I’m sure.”  
Skinner sighed, and Mulder could practically see him removing his wire-rimmed glasses to massage the bridge of his nose.  
“I apologize for snapping at you, Agent. It’s just tough to find out that one of your own is dirty. I’ll launch a full investigation. In the meantime, keep my updated on the status of the case.”  
“I understand, sir,” Mulder acknowledged, pressing the ‘end call’ button and jamming the phone back into his coat pocket. The waitress was just taking their plates away when Mulder slid back into the booth.  
“Here is the transcript of the interview with Maria Palmer’s sister that you requested.” Truman slid a file across the table to him.  
“Thanks.” Mulder opened the file and glanced through it. “Sheriff,” he said, frowning, after a few moments, “it says here that Joan Palmer was preparing to move up to Lincolnville to live with her sister.”  
“Yes, as I recall, Maria was afraid her sister wasn't safe living on her own. In fact, Maria was in Camden to help Joan start moving on the day she died.”  
“What is it, Mulder?” Scully asked.  
“Nothing yet, just an idea…” Mulder mumbled. After another moment he flipped the folder shut and clapped his hands together gleefully.  
“Who wants dessert?”

###

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully. Around 9:30, Mulder and Scully said goodnight to the Sheriff and headed back to the hotel. Mulder knew he’d eventually have to tell Scully about his shoulder wound, but he hoped to put that off as long as possible, so as soon as they he got into his room, he locked himself in the bathroom. Sitting on the closed toilet, he unbuttoned his shirt and carefully peeled back the bandages. Blood had soaked almost all the way through the layers of thin gauze, but it hadn’t stained his shirt. The bandages were completely ruined, so he tossed them. He didn’t have any gauze on hand, and he didn’t want to go to Scully, so he grabbed a cheap hotel towel from the rack. He tore it into strips and painstakingly wrapped the makeshift bandages around his chest and over his shoulder, managing to tie them with one hand. After 20 grueling minutes of bandaging, he slipped on a t-shirt and collapsed on the bed. Every inch of his body was sore, and at the moment he wanted nothing more than to sleep for days. Instead, he got up and gathered the case files and his laptop and spread them on the bed. He started with the file of the neurologist; Antonio Guerra. He scanned the file until he found the phone number for the hospital Dr. Guerra worked at. He grabbed the hotel phone from the nightstand and dialed.  
“Pen Bay Medical Center,” a female voice answered promptly.  
“This is Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I’m investigating the death of one of your doctors, Dr. Antonio Guerra, and I need some information.”  
There was muffled conversation on the other end for a moment, then the same voice said, “Let me transfer you to our Chief of Neurology.”  
A few clicks later, a different voice picked up.  
“Dr. Stein, Pen Bay Neurology.”  
“Dr. Stein, Agent Mulder of the FBI. I’m calling because I need some information relating to Dr. Guerra.”  
“What kind of information?”  
“Did Dr. Guerra have any patients from the town of Camden?”  
“I’m sorry, Agent, but I providing personal information on any of Dr. Guerra’s patients would be a breach of our privacy policy.”  
“Please, I don’t need any names. This is part of an ongoing serial murder investigation, it’s very important,” Mulder pleaded.  
Dr. Stein hesitated for a few moments, then said, “Dr. Guerra did have a patient from Camden; a young boy. But Antonio was working on convincing the parents to move the boy down to Rockport. The child has a very serious neurological condition, and Antonio believed it would be beneficial for all parties if he were living closer to the hospital.”  
“Thank you very much, that’s all I need.” He hung up the phone and went over to knock on Scully’s door. It was time to bring her in on his theory.  
15 minutes later, they were both seated on the bed in his room.  
“Something happened to me while you were gone, Scully,” he began, “I ran into something in the woods. Something intelligent.”  
Scully’s eyes were narrowed. She opened her mouth to interrupt him but he stopped her. “I know what you’re going to say, just let me finish. I believe this creature, whatever it is, is responsible for the killings. But it’s not killing out of malice, or even hunger, it’s killing out of defense. In the woods, it only attacked me when it thought I posed a threat-- when I reached for my gun. The deaths of Maria Palmer, Dr. Antonio Guerra, Special Agent Mike Pinkman, and Jonathan Hyde all have one thing in common; in the eyes of the creature, all of the victims were in some way threatening a Camden local.” Mulder paused.  
Scully’s eyebrows were raised questioningly, but she remained silent, so he continued.  
“Maria Palmer was taking her sister away to live in another city, Dr. Guerra had a patient that he wanted to move down to Rockport, Agent Pinkman directly threatened the car repair guy, and Jonathan Hyde was going to run away somewhere with his girlfriend; Michelle Austin.”  
“So why did Jonathan Hyde ram us with his car?”  
“Since he died not long after that, my best guess is that he was fleeing from the creature and hitting us was merely an accident.”  
“Then what about the first murder from 93-- the mugging? I thought you were convinced it was connected to this case?”  
“I believe that was the incident that set off this defensive streak in the creature.” Finished, Mulder leaned back against the headboard and watched Scully closely as her mind processed the information he’d just unloaded onto her. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke.  
“You said this creature attacked you in the woods.”  
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. Wordlessly, Scully stood and went back into her own room. A tiny glimmer of panic sparked in Mulder. He’d finally done it. She’d put up with three years of his shit, and she’d finally had enough. He never should have gone into the woods alone. Before he had a chance to pursue that line of thought further, Scully’s door swung open and she walked back into his room holding the first aid kit that she’d kept with her at all time since becoming his partner. Relief washed over him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the bag.  
“Take off your shirt,” she commanded.  
Mulder raised his eyebrows suggestively at her, but pulled his shirt off dutifully. Scully carefully undid the clumsy knots on the towel-bandages to reveal the deep gash running from Mulder’s collarbone to his armpit.  
“Damnit Mulder,” she murmured. She efficiently cleaned the wound and bandaged it with actual bandages, ignoring Mulder’s yelps of pain.  
“This is going to need stitches. We’re going back to the hospital first thing in the morning.”  
“Aw Scully, come on,” he whined.  
“You should never have left in the first place. Now I want you to forget about the case for tonight and get some rest.” She poured two white pills out of a bottle onto her hand. “Take these. If you need anything I’ll be next door.” And with that, Mulder was left alone with his thoughts.

###  
January 14th, 1996  
###

Mulder was dragged out of a pleasant dream by screaming. He opened his eyes but saw only darkness still. He reached blindly to his right until he found the lamp switch and light flooded the room. Blinking rapidly, he attempted to pinpoint the source of the screams. It sounded as if it was coming from outside. A glance outside told him it was nearly dawn. He quickly dressed and grabbed his gun from the nightstand. In the hallway, Scully had just emerged from her room, eyes puffy from sleep, but dressed and armed also. They hurried down to the lobby and out the front door to where the young concierge was attempting to calm down a hysterical woman. As he got closer, Mulder recognized her as the female hiker from the afternoon before.  
“What happened?” Scully asked sharply.  
The woman’s face was dirt and tear streaked, her knees and palms scraped and bloody. She turned from the harried-looking concierge to the two FBI agents.  
“It’s my husband, Charlie,” she said, almost hysterically, “We were attacked by something-- a bear --and we were separated. He’s still in there, please you have to help him!”  
“Do you have a flashlight?” Mulder asked. The woman handed him her flashlight them offered Scully the extra attached to her backpack. Without another word, Mulder set off into the forest. Scully stayed behind just long enough to tell the concierge to phone the Sheriff before she followed her partner.

###

Scully plunged headlong into the pitch black of the Camden Hills Woods with nothing to guide her but the weak flashlight and the sound of Mulder’s voice ahead of her, shouting Charlie’s name every few minutes. She swung the light side-to-side, searching the trees for any sign of the hiker. The muscles in her legs were beginning to burn, and a painful stitch had developed in her side, but she pushed on. Although Mulder didn’t show any sign of flagging, she knew he had to be in bad shape. Just as she was about to ask Mulder to take a breather, he stopped abruptly, causing her to bump into him.  
“What is it?”  
Mulder shook his head and put a finger to his lips, still keeping his eyes fixed on a point in the brush and his hand on his gun. Scully slowly drew her own weapon from its holster and held it ready. For a few tense minutes the two agents waited in silence. Scully’s trigger finger tensed as something large and vaguely humanoid skittered out of the shadows and leapt into the undergrowth. A flash of red flannel caught her eye from the spot the creature had jumped from, and she pushed aside the bushes to find the body of the missing hiker. She quickly knelt next to him and felt his neck for a pulse.  
“He’s alive,” she said, glancing up at Mulder.  
“You stay here with him, I’ll go after the creature.”  
“Mulder!” Scully protested, but her partner had already disappeared into the trees.

###

Mulder’s whole body ached and each breath kindled the growing fire in his chest. He was almost positive one of the broken ribs had punctured a lung now, and the wound on his shoulder had started bleeding again, soaking through his t-shirt. It occurred to him that he had now ruined a total of three shirts on this case. A personal best, actually. He had been following the sound of the undergrowth rustling, but he suddenly realized that the forest had become silent around him. He slowed to a walk, ears and eyes straining for a sign of his target. Mulder felt something give way underneath his feet, but before he could react, the ground collapsed under him, plummeting him into darkness. Mulder looked up, covering his mouth against the cloud of musty dust particles he’d sent up. He could just make out a covering of tree branches, so he judged that the pit he’d fallen into couldn’t be more than ten feet deep. He rolled onto his side and felt around in the dark until he located his gun and the flashlight, which, thankfully, remained functional. He flicked it on and shone it around the pit, only to discover that it was not actually a pit, but what appeared to be an abandoned mine shaft that extended as far as he could see. He started to stand, but a searing pain in his right ankle forced him back to the ground, panting. It was definitely sprained, if not broken. He spent a few moments recovering before he tried again, this time using the wall of the tunnel to support himself. Keeping his gun ready, he gritted his teeth against the agony in his ankle and started down the tunnel. Because of his punctured lung, he had to stop and rest every few minutes or risk feeling light headed from lack of air. Moving agonizingly slow, Mulder finally made it to the first fork in the tunnel. Both choices seemed equally dismal. He chose the left fork and kept moving forward. Every so often he came across the scattered bones of various animals, ranging in size from small rodents to a full grown buck.  
 _So the creature has been using these tunnels to get around the forest quickly._  
The darkness created a sense of timelessness. Mulder had no idea how long he’d been walking when he came up to the second fork in the tunnel. A small amount of natural light filtered into the tunnel from the right fork, suggesting an exit nearby. Before he had a chance to start walking again, something heavy slammed into his body, knocking him back into a wooden support beam. White spots danced in front of his eyes as he lied on the ground, desperately trying to suck enough air into his abused lungs. Dirt rained down on him from the roof of the cavern, and he realized with dismay that he’d dislodged the beam when he hit it. With difficulty he was able to focus on his attacker. The creature was large; the size of a grown man. With ash-gray skin stretched over a gaunt body. Pale eyes peered at him out of deep sockets. The same smell of decomposition filled the tunnel. Mulder shuddered involuntarily. He started to pull himself upright, but froze when the creature emitted a chilling growl. It bared its teeth in a hideous, bloody mess of teeth and torn flesh. Muscles visibly tensed on its emaciated body and it leapt at Mulder. He snatched his weapon from where it had landed and fired two rounds into the creature as it flew through the air. Ignoring the protests of his own body, Mulder rolled out of the way as the beast collided with the wall where he’d been sitting, creating a large shower of dirt. It let out a scream even more horrible than before. Mulder scrambled backwards, prepared for another attack. The creature did not get the chance to pounce again, because the shower of pebbles became a full avalanche, as a large portion of the tunnel collapsed directly onto the injured beast. Mulder was stunned for a moment, but realizing that he would be buried next if he didn’t get out, he struggled to his feet. Fueled by adrenaline and driven by fear, Mulder hobbled towards the light that was growing brighter with each hard-won step forward. By the time he reached the tunnel exit, he felt close to collapsing. The entrance was boarded up, but the dilapidated wood was easy to rip away enough for him to squeeze out. He emerged from the tunnel blinking rapidly into the rising sun. Taking his first look around, he recognized the area below him as the place he’d first seen the creature. He’d ended up on a hill overlooking the area of woods nearest to the hotel. He sighed, realizing he’d have quite a ways to walk if he wanted to get back to where he’d last seen Scully. He slowly made his way down the hill, using nearby trees to keep himself up as he went. He’d just reached the bottom of the hill when he heard Scully’s voice.  
“Mulder?” She pushed through the trees, gun held high. When she sighted him, she shoved the weapon back in its holster and rushed over to him. “Mulder, oh my God, what happened to you?”  
“If I tell you, you won’t believe me.” His knees buckled, and Scully caught him, somehow managing to support most of his weight.  
“We’ll talk later. For now, we need to get you out of here. You’re bleeding pretty badly.” She eyed him critically, noticing the large spot of blood that had spread across Mulder’s shirt from his shoulder. “Sheriff! Over here!”, she called.  
A moment later, the Sheriff appeared, and hurried to help Scully. “Ouch, what happened to you?”, he asked.  
Mulder smiled lazily, then passed out.

###

Scully and the Sheriff managed to get Mulder to the ground safely, cushioning his head on Truman’s coat. Scully quickly took stock of his injuries as the Sheriff radioed in for a helicopter. She remembered he’d been favoring his right leg, so she moved to pull up the leg of his jeans. His ankle was purple and swollen to twice its normal size. Obviously he’d been walking on it, but she decided she wouldn’t give him a hard time about that, since it was most likely out of necessity. There wasn’t much she could do about the ankle so she turned her attention to his chest.  
“Sheriff, do you have a knife?”  
Truman tossed her his pocketknife, which she used to shear Mulder’s bloodstained t-shirt down the middle. The cut was still bleeding, but not enough to be a big deal; she was more worried about infection. She put her ear to his mouth. His breathing was laborious and from the faint whistling sound he made with each exhale she suspected one of his ribs had punctured a lung. If he didn’t get medical attention soon it was possible his lung could collapse.  
 _Damnit, why did he always have to go running off alone?_  
“Agent Scully, the EMT’s are on their way, but they’ll have to land the helicopter back near the road. I think it’s too far for us to try to carry Mulder, so I’ll go meet them and lead them back here.”  
“Hurry,” Scully said, brushing the hair away from Mulder’s forehead.

###  
January 15th, 1996  
###

Mulder awoke to a clatter. He opened his eyes to see Scully staring daggers at the unfortunate nurse who had just dropped a cup of water. The flustered nurse mopped up the mess with a paper towel and left the room hastily. Scully turned her attention back to Mulder and noticed that he was awake.  
“Hey, how are you feeling?” She smiled, perching on the edge of the hospital bed.  
“Like I’ve been mauled by a bear.” Mulder groaned, lifting his shirt to inspect his wounds. “What happened?”  
“What’s the last thing you remember?”  
Mulder thought for a moment. “We were in the woods… there was a hole… the mine!” Mulder exclaimed, “You have to call the Sheriff-- tell him to check the abandoned mine underneath the woods, that’s where the creature has been living and it’s still down there; I think I killed it.”  
“Mulder... the mine collapsed; no one’s going down there anytime soon,” Scully said grimly.  
Mulder groaned again and leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes.  
“What creature are you talking about?” Scully asked.  
Mulder hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Scully, have you ever heard of the legend of the Wendigo?”  
Scully pursed her lips and shook her head.  
“We investigated something in Montana a few years back-- a Manitou. This creature is similar. I believe what I saw in that mineshaft is a creature known as the Wendigo, or more often referred to by locals as the ‘Indian Devil’.”  
Scully looked skeptical, but she motioned for him to continue. “Go on, I’m listening.”  
“In Algonquian legend, the Wendigo is a cannibalistic, human-like being. Historically, these creatures kill to feed an insatiable hunger. But I believe this one was different-- more evolved, more intelligent. Thus the focus on killing specific people.” He finished, watching Scully closely to judge her reaction. She was thinking. She looked even more skeptical than before, but she hadn’t immediately discounted his theory, which he took as a good sign.  
“Mulder…” She struggled to come up with a response. Eventually she just shook her head and sighed. “There are a hundred possibilities to explain what you saw. The tunnels were completely destroyed, so whether it was a Windigo or something else, we’ll never know for sure.”  
Mulder let it drop for now, lacking the energy to push any more. He knew the subject would come up again when they were writing their official report. “What happened after I passed out?” Mulder asked, changing the subject.  
“I waited with you while the Sheriff went to get help. It was touch-and-go for a little while there,” Scully said shakily, “You stopped breathing while the Sheriff was gone and I had to breath for you until the paramedics arrived. It was close.” She turned away from him to wipe her eyes discreetly. He pretended not to notice, and instead fiddled with the frayed edge of the hospital bedding.  
“Thanks, Scully,” he said sincerely.  
“No problem, partner. Now get some rest.” She gave his hand a squeeze and moved back to the bedside chair. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”


End file.
